


No Angel

by BowtiesonBakerStreet



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Grand Theft Auto: Vice City
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, and lots of violence probably, it is the gta universe after all, post gta v ending where all 3 protagonists survive, so POSSIBLE END OF GAME SPOILERS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BowtiesonBakerStreet/pseuds/BowtiesonBakerStreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violet Vercetti is the heiress to a drug empire started in Vice City by her father, Tommy, in the 1980’s, but that now spans across most of the southern United States. After the historic Union Depository hit in Los Santos, Tommy decides it’s time to expand his empire to the West Coast and sends his daughter to San Andreas to secure a foothold there for the Vercetti Family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is the first fic I've written and posted in a very long time, but this story would not get out of my head! Thanks for checking it out and I hope you enjoy it :)

Non-natives of Los Santos often say that the best view of the city is on the plane ride in and the closer you get, the uglier it becomes. At first it seems perfect, of course. Sprawling beaches nestled against the ocean, a thriving downtown area with towering skyscrapers, all cradled next to lush woods and a beautiful mountain landscape. It sounds like the perfect tourist trap, and it is in a way. It’s not the beautiful sights that taint the soul of the city; it’s the dark criminal underworld lurking just beneath it. Meth, coke, heroin, white collar crime, drug lords, gang violence, prostitution, pretty much any crime you can think of has a home in LS.

  
Or so they say, at least. If it’s true, my father couldn’t have chosen a better place to expand his empire to. I take my eyes off the view from the window of my private jet and pull up the list I have saved on my iFruit phone.

  
• Martin Mendrazo  
• The Lost  
• The Ballas  
• Grove St Family  
• Trevor Phillips Industries

  
My eyes hover over the last name on the list. We’d been able to gather intel on every other major faction producing and/or distributing drugs in Los Santos except whatever Trevor Phillips Industries was. It had no real address or location, no listing, not even a local business that could be used as a front. All we really had was the name Trevor Phillips. I close the list in frustration as the plane begins to descend onto the runway of Los Santos International Airport.

  
A few minutes pass as the plane comes to a full stop and the pilot exits the cockpit to open the door and extend the ladder. I give him a smile and a thank you as I descend the steps to find a black sedan parked near the runway with two men in black suits standing next to it. I sigh as I walk towards it; I should’ve known my father wouldn’t let me do this alone.  
“Ma’am” The taller guard says as he opens the backseat door of the car for me. I pull my phone out once again and dial the number I know by heart as I slide in.

  
“Violet? Is everything okay?” My father asks.

  
“Daddy you promised me you’d let me do this by myself, so what’s with the stiffs?” I catch the eye of the guard driving through the rearview mirror. “No offense” I add in his direction. His eyes focus back on the road.

  
“They’re just there to drive you to the hotel and in case you need backup, that’s all. You won’t even know they’re there, sweetie, I promise.”

  
“Dad, if I’m going to do this, you have to trust me.”

  
“Honey, you know I trust you, that’s not the issue here. If something were to happen to you I could never forgive myself. I know you like to think you’re invincible – and you damn near are – but that doesn’t mean you can’t get killed out there.” His voice was beginning to rise. “Just do this for me, please sweetheart.”

  
There was a part of me wanting to say fuck no, to tell him that I could get around the city just fine without a couple of his burly bodyguards escorting me everywhere. But another, softer side of me understood his worry. I was being sent to this city to make contact with very dangerous people and there could come a time where I would need help. I let out a long sigh.

  
“Okay. But they only take me to the hotel. Nothing else unless I call.”

  
He breathes out a laugh. “It’s a deal. Now go find some drug lords.”

  
A small smile crosses my face as I listen to the absurdity of his sentence. “You got it pop.” I swear I can hear his smile through the phone as the line clicks dead. I put my phone back in my pocket and look through the tinted window of the sedan, now on the freeway headed towards Rockford Hills. The area around the airport is a bit run down. The roads are in desperate need of repair, not to mention some of the ramshackle homes in the surrounding neighborhoods. It seems, however, to add its own kind of charm to the city; an honest, gritty realness that will no doubt be missing from the vein, self-obsessed streets of Vinewood.

  
The car ride to the Richman Hotel seems to go by quick. I spend the journey looking out the window, trying to commit every winding road and strange landmark to memory. If my family is going to run this town soon, I’m going to need to know it like the back of my hand.

  
I take in the view of the hotel when we finally arrive. It’s large and lavish, fit for all the celebrities and perverted movie producers who most likely promise young girls fame and fortune inside its walls. You could probably fit two or three of my father’s mansions inside of it, I think.

  
I exit the car and wave off the bodyguard making his way to the trunk and retrieve my one piece of luggage myself.

  
“Do you need any help inside ma’am?” The taller guard asks me.

  
“I can manage, thank you.” I say evenly. “Now please make yourselves scarce. If things get out of control I’ll call you.”

  
“Yes, ma’am.”

  
The guard reenters his car and I watch the black sedan with tinted windows drive out of sight. I feel a little guilty that I didn’t ask for their names, but I’m positive I won’t be seeing much of them anyway. I know how to handle myself, despite any doubts my father may have.

  
I stroll into the lobby, suitcase in tow behind me, and saunter to the front desk. A woman waits there with perfectly tanned skin, bleach blonde hair, and a uniform that seems to be 1 or 2 sizes too small for her, despite her already thin frame. If her squirming and constant tugging down at her skirt mean anything, it’s probably that she’s forced to wear it by management to appeal more to the hotel’s key demographic; sleazy celebrities and forty-something husbands whose wives have had enough and thrown them out of the house. She flashes a brilliant white smile when she sees me walking over. I glance at the name tag on her chest that reads “Sophia”.

  
“Hello! Welcome to the Richman. Can I have your name please?”

  
“Mercedes Cortez.” It’s become somewhat of a tradition for me to use my mother’s name whenever travelling. We also look eerily similar, except for having my father’s whiter skin complexion and hazel eyes, so it was easy to have a fake ID rigged up in her name.

  
Sophia taps at her keyboard for a few minutes then confirms my ID. She hands it back to me with another bright smile.

  
“Alright Ms. Cortez we have one of our VIP rooms booked for you at your request.”

  
I look at her for a few seconds, realizing my father’s part in the VIP room I really didn’t want. He knows I hate wasting family money on things like lavish hotel rooms, especially ones I didn’t plan on spending much time in. He loved pulling shit like this. I could practically hear his smirk all the way in Vice City.

  
Sophia must have sensed my hesitation. Her smile falters a bit and she cocks her head. “Is there anything wrong Ms. Cortez?”

“Uh, no, the VIP suite is fine, thank you.”

  
Her full smile returns and although it’s most likely fake I can’t help but notice how beautiful it is. Her real smile, the one reserved for funny jokes with friends and thank yous for acts of kindness must be nothing short of effervescent.

  
“You’ll be in room 608. Take the elevator to your left all the way to the top floor, and thank you for choosing the Richman!”

  
I think about flashing a flirty grin before I leave, but she probably has to deal with enough of that from the men that come through here, let alone rich women with ties to the mafia, so I decide against it. I settle for a thank you and a nod as I make my way towards the elevator.

  
The doors open to the sixth floor. It about matches the rest of the hotel’s theme of opulent and costly, although it doesn’t really scream Very Important Person to me. I head to the door labeled 608 and use the key card to get in.

  
I’m actually pleasantly surprised at the room. It’s not the most exquisite I’ve ever seen, but it is spacious and very beautiful. It’s about the size of a condo, with beautiful crème colored walls and white carpet floors. There’s a fireplace against one wall and a tv on the other, with a little green loveseat in between that would be perfect if I had anyone to share it with. There’s also a little minibar in the far corner of the room, which I will probably get my use out of.

  
The room gives off an air of vintage style and beauty, and for a moment I find myself wishing I was just another guest here, maybe a tourist or a C list celebrity enjoying the sights of Los Santos. I set my suitcase down on the bed and walk to the patio, staring out at the gorgeous downtown skyline wistfully for a few moments, forgetting just for a few minutes everything about my past and my present. The sky is blue and cloudless and the sun shines high in the afternoon sky, warming my skin. My phone buzzing in my pocket wakes me out of my trance.

  
_Do you know where you’re going to start yet? – N_

  
I stare at the text message for a minute. Natasha always seems to be a step ahead of everyone else. I suppose she should be. She’s been helping my father run things for almost 15 years, since he started getting too old to be in 4 places at once like he used to be when handling the business. She started out as one of those hacker types in the late 1990s and ended up getting on the Vercetti radar in a very bad way. It was just little mischievous things at first, sending him weird emails and strange phone calls. Then one day, almost out of the blue, she got really bold and found a way to hack into the bank’s mainframe and made a good portion of money from his private fund disappear. He was ready to kill her after that, was seething with rage. It turned out though, the feds were onto him and trying to nail him in possession of dirty money. Natasha made sure that didn’t happen. She planted the money in another private fund away from prying eyes and made the transaction record disappear. She was trying to prove her usefulness to him the whole time. It worked, too. She’s helped my dad stay a step ahead of the feds ever since.

  
I ponder Natasha’s message before responding.

  
_We still have some of our people here, right? I think my first step is to get in touch with them. Maybe have them scope out different parts of the city. – V_

  
It’s as good a first move as any I can think of. My phone chimes again a few seconds later.

  
_As far as I know only Victor and Mark are left. – N_

  
I sigh heavily. We had sent about 8 of our people into Los Santos ahead of myself a few months earlier to give us an idea of who we would be dealing with. Some had infiltrated the Lost biker gang, and been promptly killed when someone blew up their home base in the Alamo Sea…twice. A few others had worked their way into Martin Mendrazo’s ranks, only to be killed in a couple high speed pursuits on the freeway by a couple guys Martin wanted dead for kidnapping his wife, or something to that effect. It was a huge blow for us, Vice City hadn’t been that chaotic since my father began taking over in the 80’s, or so I’m told. We had vastly underestimated how out of control LS was. It seemed we only had two contacts left, both mercifully posing as civilians and establishing sources in various seedy characters.

  
_Okay, tell them to meet me across the street from the hotel ASAP. I’ll be waiting for them. – V_

 

_You got it. – N_

I put the phone back in my pocket and change into something more pedestrian looking, some stylish boots, jeans, and a form-fitting, short sleeved flannel shirt, before heading out the door. I knew I wouldn’t get to enjoy this room for very long.

************

The hotel lobby is freezing cold, as seemingly most hotel lobby’s are, so I decide to wait for Victor and Mark outside at the front entrance. I lean up against one of the tall stone pillars, the side casting a shadow so I don’t roast like a potato in the sun. The stone feels cool against my skin and I relax into it. The drop off is surprisingly dead, I expected a constant gaggle of tourists and wealthy persons parading in and out of the hotel at all times. Not so, apparently, as it’s wonderfully quiet except for the odd car and pedestrian passing by on the street.

  
I’m starting to fall in love with the silence when a taxi pulls up. I immediately grab my aviators out of my front shirt pocket and casually slip them on before slinking back against the pillar a little more. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to being spotted I’ve learned.

  
A woman and what appear to be her son and daughter get out of the car. The son and daughter are older, must be in their late teens or more and look exhausted. The mother seems to be a bit weary, but more fired up and angry than anything else.  
They grab their suitcases from the trunk of the car.

  
“C’mon Mom, I thought we were all over this. I know Dad’s a murderous, criminal psychopath but he’s our murderous, criminal psychopath. That’s just who he is, what did you expect?” The son whines to the mother.

  
That catches my interest.

  
“We’re not discussing this anymore, Jimmy. Your father promised us he’d change, but he’s still making stupid choices. Now this is my decision and I know you may not think so, but it’s the right one.” The mother says sternly, as she hastily pulls out suitcases.

  
They finish unpacking and walk into the hotel lobby. Something in my gut tells me to follow them, so I wait a few minutes before tailing them inside.

  
I lean casually against a wall further back in the lobby, putting some good distance between myself and the family as the tan-skinned, bright smiled Sophia checks them in. I strain a little to make out their conversation.

  
“It looks like we do have a standard room available. What name would you like me to put it under?” Sophia asks with the same enthusiasm as she did me earlier in the day.

  
“De Santa, Amanda De Santa.”

  
Sophia taps at her keyboard again.

  
“Okay Mrs. De Santa, you’ll be in room 307. Here’s your room key, just take the elevator to your left to the third floor and have a wonderful stay!”

  
The woman – Amanda – gives a curt thank you and walks briskly to the elevator, her family in tow.

  
I pull out my phone once more.

  
_Change of plans. Tell V and M we’ll have to meet another time. –V_

 

_Everything okay? – N_

 

_Yea, I may just have a lead. - V_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet meets Amanda and learns a little bit about her and Michael's secret...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I think I owe everyone who read this an apology for the long wait. I will admit this story got away from me for a while, but Violet just kept bugging me to come back to her! So here it is, chapter 2! It's a little short and a little slow, but hopefully it'll hold you over until chapter 3 is posted.

Stake outs have always been the worst part of my line of work. As much as Vinewood movies and TV likes to make them look cool and glamorous, all intense conversations that lead to even more intense car chases or on-foot pursuits through back alleyways; in reality, they’re nothing but uncomfortable and boring. It’s a lot of sitting around watching something, or rather someone, you’re pretending not to watch. It’s nothing short of tedious.

And yet here I sit in the lobby of the Richman Hotel at a small, contemporarily decorated table in the far corner of the room. It’s not the most comfortable place to sit, the thin metal frame of the chair I’m in has to be one of the hardest surfaces I’ve ever had the misfortune of being seated on, but has the best vantage point of the hotel’s only elevators and staircase doors.

I flip to the next page of the newspaper I’m holding in front of me. There’s a news story on page 3 about 7 bodies that were pulled out of the water around the islands north of Mt Chilead that seem to be the work of some serial killer from the late 1990’s, the Infinite 8 Killer they call him. It was an interesting story until about the 4th time I read it.

I put the paper down and sigh. It’s been almost 4 hours since Amanda and her kids checked in, and while the son and the daughter had quickly left the hotel soon after to go do god knows what, Amanda seemingly hadn’t left the room at all. I shift in my seat uncomfortably and tell myself that I’m prepared to camp here all night if I have to, though I loathe to think about it.

I pull out my phone for the umpteenth time, both to check for any updates from Nat and to add to the illusion I’m creating of myself as just another hotel patron impatiently waiting for a friend as opposed to the heiress of a drug empire stalking a particular hotel guest.

Nothing new. I sigh again.

The universe must have finally gotten tired of hearing my aggravated sighing because I look up from my phone to see none other than Mrs. De Santa herself walking out of an elevator and heading towards the rear exit. I swear I could cry from joy.

My legs are stiff as I follow Amanda through the winding hotel hallways and out onto the streets of Rockford Hills. She hails a taxi as I quickly send a text to a newly entered number in my contacts list. As Amanda’s taxi pulls away, a black Sedan with tinted windows pulls up in its’ place. I open the backseat door and slide in once again.

“Nice to see you again so soon, ma’am.” Says the driver with a small shit-eating grin on his face. I learned from Natasha that his name is Mike. He’s by himself this time, most likely assuming he wouldn’t need backup for a simple tail.

“An absolute pleasure.” I say sarcastically. “Follow that taxi please. And make sure you’re not made.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mike pulls back onto the street slowly, leaving a couple cars between us and the taxi. I stay silent for the next few minutes, wholly focused on my target until I feel my phone buzz.

Anything good? - N

Not sure yet. Could you do me a favor? Run a check on the name Amanda DeSanta. I want info on her and her husband – V

Sure, give me a few minutes – N

I can only hope this turns out to be an actual lead. Amanda doesn’t seem the type to be a high profile criminal’s wife, so far at least. If Natasha’s search turns up anything it means she used her actual name to book the hotel; a very rare occurrence when dealing with high ranking members of the criminal hierarchy. And while she is dressed in very expensive all-designer clothes, it can’t be an uncommon sight in Vinewood. But even if her husband is nothing but a low level gangbanger, it would be a start.

The car slows as I look up to see Amanda getting out of her taxi and walking into a very upscale nail salon. I should have guessed that would be the first place she would go. Mike pulls into a parking spot about 6 cars down from the business. I take down its name and location. If it’s the first place Amanda goes in crisis, it most likely means she’s a regular.

My phone begins to buzz again, a call this time.

“Nat?” I answer.

“Hey Vi, I got that info you wanted. There were 3 Amanda de Santas in the area, luckily only one was married. 45 years old, husband is a Michael de Santa, two children named Jimmy and Tracey.”

“What did you find on Michael?”

“A lot of nothing. Too much if you ask me. The guy is squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket on his record. And going by the look of their credit and debit card transactions they are loaded. I’m talking huge house in downtown vinewood, multiple cars, the guy even bought a friggin yacht.”

Perfect.

“Looks like we might actually have a lead then. Talk about luck. What’s their address?”

“Hold on a second…okay looks like they’re at 21 Portola Drive.”

“Alright, tell Mark and Victor to go sit on the place for a while. I want to know what Michael’s up to and if he get any visitors.”

“Got it, I’ll send them over ASAP.”

“Thanks, Nat.” I say as I hang up the phone. This is definitely a good start. If they have as much money as Nat’s saying and Michael’s record is cleaner than any person in Los Santos’ should be, he has to be involved in the criminal industry in a big way, or maybe even involved in witness protection. Either way, he’ll know something about who’s who in the criminal underworld here.

I decide trying to befriend Amanda would be the best way to get more information on her and her family, so I dig into my pocket and open up a small wallet I keep on me with fake IDs and small items that can help with disguises. I dig around in it until I find a convincingly fake diamond ring that I slip onto my left ring finger and then wait a few more minutes before entering the nail salon. The place is nearly empty except for several employees and a few customers. My streak of luck seems to continue. I sneak the employee that greets me $100 to seat me now and I choose the seat next to Amanda. 

“Thank you so much for this” I tell the employee in a distressed tone. “I just had to get out of the house, I can’t stand to be around my husband anymore, the lying bastard.” This seems to get Amanda’s attention but she says nothing. 

“10 years I put up with his shit!” I continue, trying to goad her. “And all he does is lie and cheat.” I turn to Amanda. “All these men are good for nothing, you know?”

She looks at me now with understanding in her eyes.

“My husband’s the same way, honey. Or should I say my soon-to-be-ex husband” she says with emphasis on the ex.

Good. Getting her talking is the first step.

“Yours a cheater too?” I ask.

“Sure is. Except we’ve been married 25 years, most of which was hell. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to actually leave him for good.”

“Let me guess, he always says he’s going to change when he’s caught, but then two weeks later he’s back to the same bullshit?”

“Yeah, and I fall for it every time! This last time when he said it though, I was so sure he meant it. I mean, we went to a therapist, he started spending more time with me and the kids, he even stopped with…certain bad hobbies of his. But of course, I caught him again. I guess old habits die hard.”

For a moment I almost feel sorry for Amanda. After all, 25 years is a long time to spend with someone. That’s nearly my whole lifetime.

“listen” I say softly. “Do you want to grab a coffee with me? I think it would really help both of us. After all, us women have to stick together.” I give her a warm smile, as inviting as I can muster.

She looks at me and seems to think it over.

“Okay…yeah maybe that would help.”

We finish the rest of our manicures talking about trivial things like celebrity gossip, then walk to a coffee shop around the corner. We sit at one of the circular tables with an umbrella over it blocking out the harsh afternoon sun. We talk a bit about each other. I learn that she’s from the Midwest and she used to be a “dancer”. I tell her I was a dancer too, in Vice City at a club called the Pole Position (thanks dad).

We’ve been talking for over an hour when I decide to make a leap of faith.

“Amanda, there’s something I need to admit about my husband. But I need to know I can trust you with this.”

“Of course Mercedes, I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart.” She says taking another drink of her coffee.

“Well…Henry is…involved with some bad people.”

“Bad People?”

“Yes he’s…I can’t believe I’m telling you this…he’s a thief. A professional one at that. It started out small, with just a car here and there so he could sell it and keep a roof over our heads. I was never directly involved of course but I always looked the other way because, well, times were hard back then and it kept food on the table. But it kept escalating to the point where he was going out of the city to do professional jobs like robbing jewelry stores. A part of me feels horrible about it, it just became a way of life.”  
I avoid eye contact with Amanda the whole time I’m saying this to really sell the story. She seems to be taking the bait because her next words are oozing with sympathy.

“Mercedes, I know exactly how you feel.”

I look up at her, feigning surprise. “You do?”

She nods and there’s a silent understanding between us both. Got her. Luck really seems to be on my side during this trip.

“Listen,” she says. “I left a few things behind at the house when I got me and the kids out of there. I was so mad at Michael, I just wasn’t thinking straight. I was planning on going back to pick them up alone later today, but it would be nice to have some moral support for once.”

I smile. “I would absolutely love to go with you. Who knows, maybe me and Michael could have a little…talk.”

Amanda laughs at that and gets up to hail a cab. Dad’s going to love this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, like I said, this chapter was a little slow but it's really just a jumping off point. The next chapter will finally have our heroine meeting Michael! I assure you hi-jinks will ensue. Stay tuned and thank you so much for reading! If you like this story so far please leave a comment, feedback helps me out so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay there's chapter 1! I've grown very attached to this story and especially to Violet and I'm working on chapter two right now, so it should be up soon! Please leave feedback if you'd like, that always helps motivate me, and thanks for reading :)


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